


How Okoye Got Her Groove Back

by SoftObsidian74



Series: For the Culture [3]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angst and Humor, Armchair Therapy, F/M, Flirting, Inspired by Novel, Kissing, Masturbation, Okoye & Nakia friendship, Okoye & Shuri friendship, Okoye & T'Challa friendship, Okoye & various Avengers friendships, Okoye Feels, Okoye Needs a Hug, Orphans, POV Character of Color, Pining, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Supernatural Elements, Thanos is dead dead dead, The Avengers Are Good Bros, Wakandans are good bros, and the HIV epidemic, blink and you might miss it Steve/Bucky, coffee hoarding, discussions of corporate colonialism, international Starbucks, mentions of past Okoye/W’Kabi, reclaiming identity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-07 17:29:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17964953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftObsidian74/pseuds/SoftObsidian74
Summary: As General of Wakanda and the most senior member of the Dora Milaje, Okoye is Wakanda’s fiercest warrior. But even the strongest warriors have vulnerabilities. When T’Challa puts Okoye on mandatory leave, it forces her to face things about herself she has been ignoring for too long. It also gives her a lot of time to find a new hobby, bring Starbucks to Wakanda, make new friends, and rediscover love.





	1. Umsindo

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Terry McMillan's "How Stella Got Her Groove Back".
> 
> This first chapter was beta'd by the wonderful Koala-kat, HoneyyBey, and Dreadnought <3

The sun was low in the sky by the time the fighting ended. A light breeze swept past, and with it, the stench of death. Okoye gritted her teeth. It was hard to ignore the smell assaulting her nose. Hundreds of bodies littered the lush, green hills and colorful low valleys of Wakanda’s beautiful countryside. The Dora, Jabari, River tribe, and Mining tribe- in death, they all looked the same. But it had been a good fight; their deaths had not been in vain. Okoye took one long look at the field again before turning away. 

Aside from a few cuts and bruises, the Avengers had walked away from the battle unscathed. Anger and resentment filled Okoye like a flash of lightning, but in an instant it was gone. As twisted as it was, Captain Rogers’ grim expression was appeasing. They’d lost something too, even if they still had their lives, and that was enough, for now. 

Romanov glanced up, her green eyes apologetic. 

Okoye had no use for it. She pursed her lips. “Did you and you friends just come here to fight, or do you plan to stick around to clean up?”

“We’re here to help,” Romanov said. “Wherever you need us.”

All of them gathered closer - Romanov, Wanda, Vision, The Captain, the White Wolf, Sam Wilson, the one they called Rhodey, and the ridiculous curly haired man still sitting in the giant iron suit - their faces dirty and weary.

T’Challa gestured towards them as he spoke. “They are waiting for your direction, General. I leave it up to you.”

“Yizisa iloli,” she ordered loudly. Past the Avengers, on the hill, the remaining foot soldiers stared down at their fallen comrades. The local farmers, goat herders, and volunteering tribesman all looked up as if waking from a dream. Slowly they began the grisly work of erasing death from the land.

Okoye’s gaze shifted as Captain Rogers took a step towards her. His eyes were intense, and his entire demeanor vibrated with a desire to just do _something._ It was the same kind of focus she expected of her Dora. The familiarness of it put her at ease. 

“The field needs to be cleared by nightfall,” she repeated in English. “We take our dead to the Engcwele tombs, just beyond the Ngelosi River. We could use your assistance with loading the bodies. If you don’t mind?”

The Avengers split up to help load the deceased onto gurneys to load the huge convoy waiting on the edge of the battlefield.

Okoye stood stiffly as she watched over the business of it. Sometimes someone would falter as they tried to lift a body. No matter how far away they were they’d look up to her, for guidance, or perhaps some type of reassurance. It was not something she could offer, not if she wanted to keep it together. Any kind of emotion spared right now could unravel her soul and she was the General. It would be inappropriate. A failure.

She gave her best unflinching stoic expression to encourage them to keep working. So focused on this task, she nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand fell on her shoulder. 

T’Challa’s eyes were wide with surprise and concern. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

Embarrassed, Okoye scoffed and willed her face not to burn. “As if.”

~~*~~

They finished clearing the field just before nightfall. Years of training took over as Okoye made the long trek back to her quarters. She wore a tried and true mask of indifference until a young intendent gave her a kind look and asked how she was doing. That prompted her most reproachful glare. The boy scuttled away, and Okoye somehow felt worse for it.

The long lonely walk down the long brightly lit corridor to her quarters was uncomfortably familiar. Two years had passed since her husband W’Kabi betrayed the throne and surrendered under her blade. She remembered the evening after the battle. She remembered the suffocating cloak of sadness she carried while trying to make sense of her ex-husband’s betrayal and the death of one of her Dora sisters. 

If the sadness from that day had been cloying, today it was insufferable. Half of their army had been decimated by Thanos’ animals and she’d lost two Dora. 

Walking numbly towards her suites, Okoye was acutely aware of eyes on her. The castle’s silence grew deafening. There were always eyes here. On devastating days like today, the castle staff were very good at staying out of the way. But Okoye could feel their stares on her. They watched without looking. No direct eye contact, but the weight of their concern and sympathy hung in the air like thick humidity.

Every step was a performance like one of those ridiculous Western model catwalk shows Nakia and Shuri sometimes liked to watch. When Okoye finally reached her quarters, she shut the door and fell back against it, eyes closed.

The dark respite only lasted a moment before it was replaced by bloodied faces of her fallen Dora - Cebisa and Lulama. A tide of useless anger and sorrow welled up in her chest, threatening to push tears to her eyes. She shook her head to stave them off as an uninvited memory of mourning her fallen comrade Kia over two years ago arose. 

She remembered emptying her closet where she’d kept a small wooden basket for laundry. She’d dumped out the contents and canvassed the room for more of W’Kabi’s things.

Yanking down the large lounging robe in the corner, she’d stuffed it into the basket. When she’d dropped to her knees to look under the bed, she’d found a pair of well worn brown sandals. Extra large. In the basket they went. 

A royal blue dashiki, a pair of linen underclothing, a hair brush, her damn sheets that smelled too much like _him_. All in the basket.

She’d stuffed them all down to make room for more stuff until she could find no more. 

The contents of the basket had made the wood bulge in odd places. Okoye remembered how she’d scowled down at the glint of gold on her left hand that had been the last reminder of W’Kabi. The tiny sapphires bearing River tribe markings in the band were supposed to symbolize ‘love eternal’. She’d laughed, ugly and bitter. 

Okoye had wrangled the ring off of her finger and thrown it on top of the pile. She’d taken it out of her quarters and shouted _“Udoti!”_ for trash pick up. 

Two years later after his pardon, W’Kabi lived on the outskirts of his own village, and Okoye was still in the same place, besmirched by blood and mud. Only this time, there were also alien guts staining her uniform. 

Okoye inhaled deeply through her nose and out through her mouth. Just as she’d done two years ago, she locked her door, and went to prepare a black soap bath. 

Exorcising the bad memories of war always started with a bath. Okoye had once washed away the grime of battling Killmonger. Today she would do it all again. No amount of battle filth could withstand a nice hot bath. Afterwards, things would return to normal. She was almost certain.

~~*~~

It didn’t take long for the nightmares to start. At first there were only shadows of them. She’d wake up feeling unsettled, her heart racing like after a day of full training. Slowly though, her dreams began to take shape and stick in her mind and linger like dead flies caught in wax paper. They stopped waking her up early, now the dread of having one kept her up all night. She’d wake up tired, irritable, and angry that she couldn’t control her own mind.

T’Challa was a good friend, perhaps her best friend. So guarding him had always been easy. Okoye always enjoyed his company and there were many laughs. But somewhere over the last few weeks, since the end of the battle, the easiness of standing guard had grown into mind-numbing restlessness. Every second that passed seemed to move in slow motion, like time had been broken. 

“What is the matter?” T’Challa asked one day when they were walking to market.

Okoye looked around. “Who are you talking to?”

“You.”

There was no smile on T’Challa’s face, or teasing in his eyes. He looked concerned. Inside, Okoye stomach turned. She was the protector here. His General. The concern should come from _her_ , not from him. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

T’Challa hummed. “You are fidgeting.”

“I am not fidgeting.”

The market was busy today, full of the sound of people trading and the delicious smell of food being prepared for sale.They walked on, watching the Merchant tribe people advertise their wares while those who would buy bartered with them. 

Okoye scanned the area for threats, and as usual, there were none. She was almost disappointed. Anything would be better than the side-eye T’Challa kept throwing her way.

“What is it?” she gritted out, staring ahead.

“The battle… it was hard. We lost a lot of people. There hasn’t been a Dora tragedy since…”

“Killmonger,” she spit. “It is war. We prepare to die. We will rebuild and move on.”

“Just like that, eh?” T’Challa asked. 

Okoye narrowed her eyes, glaring out where Sam Wilson, Captain Rogers, and The White Wolf were congregated. They were were buying food and laughing, as they tended to do when they were together. 

“They don’t seem to have a problem with it,” Okoye said pointedly.

“Things are not always what they seem.”

Okoye sighed and turned to look T’Challa square in the eye. “If you have something to say to me, say it.”

T’Challa turned his head and then his full gaze was upon her. Okoye knew every one of T’Challa’s expressions like the back of her hand, and she’d seen this one before, just never directed at her. The urge to look away was strong, but she was the General, and a Dora, even a King’s inspection could not make her cower. 

When Okoye did not break under T’Challa’s piercing stare, he simply sighed. “I was just checking on a friend. That is alright, isn’t it?”

“If you insist on being a nag, I cannot stop you. You are the King after all.”

T’Challa huffed out a chuckle. “Yes, and as King, I expect my General to inform me if she needs some time off.”

“What I need is more help,” Okoye said. “We need two new Dora. You know how long it takes to train one.”

“Ay,” T’Challa nodded. “I will put the word out, and you will have two new recruits. Is there anything else you require, your Highness?”

Okoye narrowed her eyes. “Keep it up and you will be looking for three new recruits.”

“I don’t believe it. You love me too much.”

“I love no one.”

“Lying is not your strong suit, General,” T’Challa said with a smile in his voice.

Okoye shook her head, turning away so he couldn’t see her biting back a smile.

~~*~~

_“Kwakhona!”_ Okoye ordered.

The Dora were fighting like sloppy drunks. Okoye had stopped counting the number of careless mistakes her two most senior guards, Bongani and Fezeka, had made. Mncedisi, who was usually quicker than even Okoye, was moving like an old woman today. And the two new recruits, Zala and Nomble, had much to learn when it came to spear work. They definitely were not ready for the field.

“If you were called to battle right now, most of you would not survive!” Okoye said, glaring at all of them. “Get it together. Kwakhona!”

They sparred again, this time making entirely different errors. 

“What was that?” Okoye circled them, assessing them from head to toe. “Are you hurt, Nocawe?” she asked her youngest Dora.

The girl shook her head, her eyes falling to the ground. “No, General.”

“Look at me!” 

Nocawe’s eyes met Okoye’s instantly, but her lip quivered just so and that slight sign of weakness only stoked Okoye’s anger. 

“You are moving like one who is injured. If you need to go to the infirmary, tell me now.”

“I am not injured, General,” Nocawe said, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I will do better.”

“I certainly hope so,” Okoye said. _“Again!”_

They all exchanged troubled glances before falling back into fighting formation. 

Okoye watched them like a hawk as they sparred again and again, but she was not so entranced that she missed Romanov trying (and failing) to sneak in. The Dora dojo was a grand enclosed space, guarded by beautiful ornate concrete with huge black steel doors. But Romanov was stealthy, and had somehow finessed her way inside. Her cat-like steps may have worked on most, but Okoye had been taking many notes on the Black Widow since she’d arrived in Wakanda. She didn’t belong in the Dora training dojo, and her presence stuck out like house cat in a lion’s den. 

Their eyes locked and Romanov raised an eyebrow. Okoye sighed quietly, but said nothing. That was closest she’d ever come to giving a non-Wakandan permission to enter Dora space.

Romanov gave a small appreciative smile, and Okoye made it a point to completely ignore her for the rest of the training. 

When their training was over, she gave neither a word of praise or critique. Okoye’s frown said everything. Each Dora quickly bowed their salutation and made haste to exit.

“You’re pretty tough on them,” Romanov said after the last Dora left.

“That is my job.” Okoye said tightly. “The Dora Milaje are the King’s guard and must be ready for anything, at all times.”

“Looks like they already are,” Romanov replied. “They’re more skilled and in sync than any combat team I’ve ever seen, and I was trained by the best.”

“ _We_ are the best,” Okoye corrected. “And being skilled isn’t good enough. A Dora must be flawless. Anything less is mediocre.”

Romanov didn’t reply, she just kept looking back at Okoye with those strange green eyes. It rankled Okoye in a way she could not describe, reminding her too much of T’Challa’s assessing gaze of late.

“Did you need something?” Okoye asked briskly, anxious to be rid of her presence.

The way Romanov paused and lifted her head indicated she was considering her next words. It piqued Okoye’s curiosity. 

“No,” Romanov said finally. “Just came to watch… and to say hello.”

Okoye frowned. “You do not strike me as the type to just drop by to say hello.”

Romanov shrugged, her eyes flickering around the dojo. “You’re right. I’m not. But... new home, new routine... can’t hurt to make new friends.” 

Now it was Okoye’s turn to raise an eyebrow. She took care to keep her tone light when she replied, “Wakanda is not your home. It’s probably best not to get too comfortable. As we speak, your government is trying to figure out a way to extradite your team so that you can return to America, where you belong.”

The warmth left Romanov’s eyes, and in that moment, Okoye saw the formidable warrior she fought alongside with against Thanos. She readied herself for a war of words, or perhaps even a physical challenge when Romanov’s gaze shifted to something behind her.

“So what did you think?” T’Challa asked Romanov. 

Frowning, Okoye refused to give away her surprise, but she could feel her mouth tightening.

Romanov’s cold glare disappeared and she smiled. “I’m impressed. They’re amazing.”

“Yes, they are,” T’Challa said. “Thanks to their General.”

“Yes, she is very thorough,” said Romanov with a small smile.

Okoye narrowed her eyes, decoding that remark for any signs of passive aggressive subtext. But there did not appear to be any. 

“Thank you for allowing me to observe, General. It was a honor.” Romanov gave a slight bow and then walked away. 

“She’s right, you know, you are very thorough,” T’Challa said quietly. “But that is not what I observed today.”

Okoye snapped her head to look at him.

“You’ve always been very demanding, but today you came dangerously close to breaking Zala and Nomble.” He shook his head in disapproval. “They are new, they need encouragement, not to be berated.”

“They have to learn,” Okoye retorted. “Trial by fire always sharpens the blade.”

T’Challa pointed at her. “You taught me that training to be a warrior requires much more than skill. Encouragement and nurturing are essential. The Dora has always been a sisterhood.”

“Did you forget who you are talking to? Do not lecture me about the Dora!” Okoye gritted out.

T’Challa did not respond, but his eyes revealed his disappointment. Okoye turned her head to find relief from that stare. She was about to ask to be dismissed when T’Challa spoke again. 

“The Dora are yours to command, the Avengers are not…”

Okoye looked back at him in confusion.

“I heard what you said to Ms. Romanov,” T’Challa said. “It was not very nice nor your place to say it.”

Okoye gripped her spear a little tighter as irritation worsened her already sour mood. T’Challa moved in closer, his voice softer.

“I know you are not fond of Americans, but these are our guests and they have proved themselves to be dependable and trustworthy allies. Whatever your opinions are of their place in Wakanda, keep them to yourself. Do you understand?”

It would be easy to point out that the Americans had only proven to be allies if it meant saving the planet, which is to say they were dependable and trustworthy as long as their own interests were at stake. But T’Challa appeared to be particularly passionate about this issue, so Okoye bit her tongue and simply gave a slight head bow. 

“Yes, your Majesty. Is there anything else you wish to discuss, or may I be excused now?”

T’Challa was watching her with a look of concern that was becoming far too familiar these days. It made Okoye want to snarl and yell for him to stop it.

Finally he nodded his approval, but the worried crease of his brow did not smooth out.

Okoye turned away and made quick strides to her quarters, where she could curse as much as she liked about Dora training blunders and annoying Americans without reproach.

~~*~~

Nakia and T’Challa took weekly walks now. They called it “getting some fresh air”, but Okoye called it “not so secretly dating your ex because no one wants to use their words”. They were ridiculous but adorable together, and Okoye felt a deep ache of pride and regret whenever she stared at them too long. So she kept her eyes where they belonged, on everything and everyone around them.

Which is why she saw the ‘great’ M’Baku coming long before his booming voice rang out in the market courtyard.

“Greetings!”

“M’Baku, good afternoon,” T’Challa said.

“Nakia…” M’Baku smiled.

“Hello,” Nakia said, glancing to Okoye for who knows what reason. “How are you?”

“I am well,“ M’Baku said. “Even better now,” he said, turning his wide grin to Okoye, his gaze lingering much too long. Okoye could feel a scowl forming. What in the world was he so damned happy about, and why was this happiness directed at her?

“Okoye, you are looking very nice today.”

T’Challa and Nakia’s eyebrows rose in sync. It was almost funny. In spite of her irritation heat rushed to Okoye’s face. She pursed her lips and scoffed. 

This seemed to only amuse M’Baku more, which was equally annoying. “Perhaps one day you will accept my compliments.”

“Do not hold your breath,” Okoye murmured.

“Glory be to Hanuman, I think I would for you.”

What an absurd man! Okoye completely turned her back on M’Baku’s stupid face, T’Challa’s intrigued gaze, and Nakia’s delighted eyes. Scanning the market for threats was much more pertinent and worthy of her attention. 

M’Baku made a show out of giving a report on his progress with The Bugcisa School. As if everyone didn’t already know, M’Baku was spearheading the development of the first ever unified Wakandan school focused on the performing arts. It would be open all five tribes and cultivate art, poetry, dance, and music, along with traditional academic subject matter and fighting skills, of course. If Okoye didn’t know any better, she may have suspected he was trying to impress someone. 

She threw a wary glance in his general direction and found him watching her.

Okoye clicked her tongue and looked away.

“That is very impressive,” Nakia said. “Your contributions to Wakanda are to be commended.”

Nakia smiled at Okoye as she said this and Okoye frowned as T’Challa’s agreeably smiled.

“It is always a pleasure to serve Wakanda,” M’Baku said, his eyes still on Okoye. “I would do anything for her. Enjoy your day.”

“You as well,” T’Challa and Nakia said in unison.

Okoye simply glared after him as he walked away.

~~*~~

The palpable silence on their walk back to the castle had nothing to do with two lovers enjoying an escorted walk. Nakia was a damn spy but Okoye caught every one of her sneaky glances. Okoye could practically hear the familiar unspoken questions.

 _Do you think M’Baku is attractive?_

_Are you attracted to M’Baku?_

_Why are you so hard on him?_

_Do you think you’ll ever court again?_

Shuri had asked the last question one afternoon while Okoye guarded the Elder Garden where they nurtured a new crop of the heart-shaped herb. The Elder Garden was dark, lit only by the purple glow of the heart-shaped herb, and best of all: it was quiet. Okoye had grown to love the peace she found there. So it had come as quite a shock when Shuri had disturbed that peace by leaning in to ask if Okoye would consider dating again.

She did not reply and the look she gave Shuri abruptly closed down that line of conversation.

But here it was again, hanging in the air. Nakia and T’Challa didn’t even have to voice the question, Okoye could see it in their eyes as they glanced. 

She secretly exhaled when the gleaming white tips of the castle appeared above the trees. Soon she would be able to retreat into her quarters, where she could yell about it into her pillow. 

That was definitely a thing now. It was certainly healthier than running the sharp head of her spear along her arm. She would never actually do it - there were too many eyes and it would raise too many questions. But thought of doing brought a sicking relief she didn’t like to think about.

As they drew closer, they heard voices. Okoye’s grip tightened on her spear as she instinctively blocked Nakia. 

“Shhh,” she said said, holding out her hand. They all stopped, listening. 

The voices were muddled, but loud. People were talking and laughing with the kind of free-spirited glee that was reminiscent of a celebration. Sam’s Wilson’s distinctive loud and jubilant voice was easy to pick out as he called for a “macchiato”. Another man responded with a string of words that was too fast to be intelligible. That voice sounded very familiar. 

“That sounds like Tony Stark,” T’Challa said.

Nakie and Okoye exchanged a speculative glance and they all made haste to see what what was happening just beyond the Waterberry trees.

As soon as the trees thinned out, Okoye eyes grew wide and Nakia gasped. Sitting right in front of the castle, like an uninvited alien guest, was a peculiar circular spacecraft. But that wasn’t the most surprising sight. It was surrounded by a crowd of people. Members from every Wakandan tribe, servants from the castle, Dora, all of the Avengers, and two people, Okoye had never met in person but who she had researched in preparation for the Avengers’ arrival - Tony Stark, and Dr. Stephen Strange. 

Everyone was holding white cups with a green mermaid logo.

“Starbucks!” Okoye gasped without thinking. She had already taken two unconscious steps closer. 

“Oh hey! Your Highness!” Stark said, grabbing two tall white Starbuck cups. “Good to see you again. How have you been?”

“I have been well, Tony. How are you? I heard that you were hurt?”

Stark shook his head, “I’m good. Great really. Nothing a little magic, rest, and arc reactor couldn't’ fix. Do you like lattes? Plain black?” he offered T’Challa and Nakia.

“I like latte,” Nakia said, taking the proffered cup eagerly.

“No thank you,” T’Challa said.

Stark shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“I like black,” Okoye blurted out, her eyes shifting between T’Challa and Stark anxiously. Dora were supposed to be silent, intimidating, constrained, and stoic. Begging for coffee was none of those things. Yet, the smell of it was so strong and enticing and the King did not want his. Dora were supposed to be mindful about waste as well. So this was perfectly within her duties. 

Stark handed her the piping hot cup and smiled. “Venti black at your service… Okoye, right? You’re a General. I usually hate Generals… well U.S. generals...and Afghanistan generals… but you? You seem cool.”

Okoye raised one eyebrow and inhaled the steam rising from her cup. Her eyes fluttered and for a moment her mind went completely blank. As the bitter hot liquid hit her tongue, she had to restrain a moan. She detected notes of chocolate and nuts, but it was very faint. This coffee was no Tanzanian Peaberry, but it was still a little slice of heaven 

T’Challa’s eyes were dancing with amusement, and Okoye turned her head to ignore him. 

“You’ve made many people happy today,” Nakia said. 

“Evidently,” Stark said. “I mean, personally I’m not a fan. I’m more of a Kopi Luwak and Esmeralda Geisha coffee kind of guy, but the masses love this shit. So what’s the deal here? You guys don’t drink coffee? Is that some sort of national decree, or are you just big tea drinkers? ‘Cause I have tea too, if you want it.”

T’Challa chuckled. It really wasn’t funny though. Okoye frowned and took another sip. 

“We do not grow coffee, and have not traded for it in quite some time,” T’Challa explained. “Our neighbors were becoming greedy. Trading for coffee created a lot of problems we did not need and it is not a necessity, so we stopped.”

Stark snatched off his sunglasses, his eyes wide. “Oh. my. god.” He glanced at Okoye who gave a commiserating head shake. “How do you manage? How you _live_? I gave up coffee once! Once! And that was only because I was being held hostage. Even then I asked my captors if they had any.”

“It is very overrated,” T’Challa waved his hand dismissively. 

Okoye, Nakia, and Stark all gaped back at him in disbelief. 

T’Challa to throw up his hands. “What?!”

“Wow,” Stark said. “Dude, my respect for you just went down several notches.”

“It is his one flaw,” Okoye replied. “So, how much coffee did you bring with you?”

“Don’t you worry, General.” Stark waggled his eyebrows. “There’s plenty of that where it came from. I brought enough to last for at least a month.”

This time, Okoye didn’t hide her smile. As far as Americans went, Tony Stark wasn’t so bad.

~~*~~

A fourth night had passed since the Dora’s last formal training exercise, and Okoye was wound tighter than an archer’s bow. She stalked through their formations like a predator, looking for weaknesses and progress.

If anything, they were much worse than before. 

Every time one of her Dora threw a sloppy jab, or was too slow on blocking, Okoye remembered how Killmonger had grabbed Aphiwe and slit her throat or Cebisa being lifted in the air by alien claws and severed in half or Lulama having her face eaten off. 

It was all running together now, each death bleeding into the other until there was nothing but stupid mistakes and missteps. Her missteps. She didn’t train them well enough.

“Enough!” she shouted. It echoed throughout the dojo and past the walls into the castle. 

The Dora all froze in mid-fight, sweaty and breathing hard like they’d been running a marathon. This wasn’t even battle. 

“If this is as good as you can fight, drop your spears and forgot about the Dora! Right now, you are a liability to yourself and Wakanda!”

None of the Dora moved, but they were all casting unsure glances between each other, which only frustrated Okoye more. 

She stalked right up to Fezeka and got into warrior stance. Fezeka hesitated, raising her spear too slowly to counter the jab Okoye delivered to her left side. It wasn’t hard enough to cause serious injury, but it poked a vulnerable space between the armor there that left Fezeka gasping. It was a wake-up call. Someone like Killmonger would not be so merciful. Someone like that blue-skinned, yellow-eyed demon Thanos sent would pierce Fezeka’s side and pin her to the ground before stomping her.

“Stand down, General!” 

Okoye blinked. Adrenaline and the singular focus of teaching her senior Dora a valuable lesson that would prevent her death had propelled her on top of Fezeka. She had her knee against Fezeka’s chest, one hand on her spear, and the other on Fezeka’s throat.

“I said, stand down,” T’Challa said, his voice much closer now. 

Looking down at Fereka, Okoye saw fear and confusion. She withdrew her hand from Fereka’s throat and quickly rose, taking care to give the woman room to rise as well. 

Okoye’s hands were shaking and it was hard to hide with a spear in one of her hands. She gripped it tighter.

“You are dismissed,” she said to all of them, even as she focused her stare on the dojo wall ahead. 

They quickly exited, leaving Okoye and T’Challa alone.

Okoye’s insides twisted with shame as she waited to be scolded by her King.

The seconds stretched out uncomfortably. Okoye wanted to tell T’Challa to just spit it out. Say his spiel and be done with it.

So when T’Challa’s hand gently touched her shoulder, she was completely flummoxed. Slowly she turned her head to look at him. 

The concern in his eyes was almost too much to take in. Suddenly Okoye wanted to hide her face, but instead, she raised her chin. 

“I am placing you on leave.”

Okoye narrowed her eyes, certain she misheard.

“What?”

“I said, I am placing you on a leave of absence, immediately.”

Of all the things T’Challa could have said, this was the most unexpected. And it didn’t make any sense for a number of reasons.

“I cannot take a leave of absence. I am your General. I am _Wakanda’s_ general. There is no such thing as ‘a leave of absence’.”

“There is now,” T’Challa said. 

Okoye shook her head. “No. It is unsafe…If I leave my post, it leaves Wakanda vulnerable. I am the top military advisor here, and---”

“And you are not the only one who has military training. I am not some defenseless teenager. I am the Black Panther, General. The protector of Wakanda. In addition to my own abilities and skills, I have the Dora Milaje, Nakia, my sister, and a team of superheroes. We are more than capable of holding down the fort until you return.”

“I don’t want to take leave,” Okoye said stubbornly.

“I know,” T’Challa said softly, and somehow that was worse than him scolding. It was as if she’d suddenly become a fragile child who knew nothing of war and the horrors of life. 

She opened her mouth to protest but T’Challa’s hand tightened on her shoulder as he continued. “This is not up for negotiation. I did not reach this decision lightly. As General, it is your responsibility to make sure the Dora and all who fight for Wakanda are well. When one of them is injured, it is your duty to make sure they get medical attention. But the scars of war are not always visible and it is my duty as king to make sure my General gets the same attention as her soldiers. You will take leave immediately, and while you are on leave, you will see Marjani.”

“I do not need my head examined!” Okoye blurted out desperately. T’Challa’s concern, his assessment, his solution, it was all frighteningly sound. Frightening because Okoye never imagined she would ever be weak and in need such a thing.

Annoying tears were creeping into her eyes, and her spear shook with her hand. T’Challa’s hand wrapped around Okoye’s shoulder and he pulled her close to his chest. The thought of pushing him off crossed her mind, but even as she considered it, the warmth of his embrace loosened something deep inside of her. She exhaled slowly, surprised at the relief flooding her.

“How long?” she asked.

“As long as it takes,” T’Challa said, hugging her tighter.

When she finally pulled back, T’Challa was looking down at her with a small smile. “You’re actually taking this much better than I’d imagined.”

“If you’d like for me to curse you out, I’d be happy to accommodate you.”

T’Challa’s smile grew wider. “That’s alright.”

Okoye took a deep breath and looked around the dojo like it would be the last time she’d ever see it. Perhaps it was a bit dramatic, but truthfully, she had no idea how long she would be gone. She didn’t even know what was wrong with her. How does one begin to fix something when you don’t know what is broken? Perhaps this leave would turn out to be permanent. 

“What will I do?” she asked suddenly, ashamed of the fear in her voice. “Besides going to get my head checked, what will I do with my time?”

T’Challa cocked his head, that little smile still there. “Anything you like.”

Okoye rubbed a hand over her head, cursing. She had to get out of here. She had to think. 

“Where are you going?” T’Challa called to her back when she began walking away.

Okoye paused in her tracks and looked over her shoulder. “It’s really none of your business now, is it? I am on leave and under no obligation to report to you.”

T’Challa gave a great dramatic sigh and looked up to the sky. “You aren’t going to make this easy for me, are you?”

Okoye smiled really sweetly. “Of course not, your Highness.”


	2. Mbini

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta'd by the wonderful Koala-kat and Dreadnought

Okoye had a long standing competition with the sun when it came to who could rise first each day. Usually, Okoye won. But on the first morning of her official leave, she took no satisfaction in beating the sun. The fading sound of a war horn rang in her ears as she opened her eyes. It could have been the war horn blown by W’Kabi to summon the rhinos to attack her and her Dora, or it could have been the war horn blown to fight Thanos’ army. 

The nightmare was gone, but it’d left its mark. Okoye stared up into the darkness, trying to will her heart to unclench. She had no memory of reaching for the dagger beneath her pillow, yet she could feel the detailed carvings of the bone handle in her grip. 

Covered in sweat, Okoye grimaced at the wet sheets clinging to her. She tucked the dagger back beneath her pillow and slowly climbed out of bed. 

Somewhere between the bed and the bathroom, she remembered there was no reason to be awake right now. She did not have to train or lead training. She was on leave. Whatever the hell that meant. 

The faint glow of her digital clock said it was 5am. It was too early for someone with no job to be up. Suddenly, Okoye felt dumb. 

She stood in the dark, a slow building panic spreading.

A morning without training or supervising or guarding or fighting would be like going a day without eating or breathing. What would she do? How could she be anything other than what she was?

The morning’s silence was broken by the sound of footsteps. Okoye walked quietly to the door and pressed her ear to it. The footsteps grew louder and then passed. Somewhere down the hall, a door opened. Okoye didn’t have to guess which door. She knew. It slammed shut and then there was nothing.

The Dora were in their dojo, cut off from the castle and the rest of the world. They were about to train. Okoye kept her ear pressed against the wall, listening to the silence as she pictured her Dora going through their drills.

It was hard to tamp down on the well of sadness that rose when she realized she had no idea what order of drills they were doing and she had no right to investigate. 

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine anyway.

~~*~~

It was noon before Okoye emerged from her suite. Taking a secret passage through the library, she boarded a private elevator down to the kitchens.

The royal chef's state of the art lair in the basements was all chrome, steel, and vibranium enhanced appliances. The clink of pots and chopping of vegetables grew louder as she approached.

“General,” the head Chef Florent proclaimed loudly. Okoye winced. Half the kitchen staff was staring. “So glad to see you out and about. I was about to send a servant up. You must be famished.”

Chef Florent was a portly man with a deep dark skin tone that reminded Okoye of her father. A River tribesman, Chef Florent’s smile as bright as the white uniform he wore. He always snuck Okoye extra desserts and cups of coffee after a long day of training.

“Here,” he said, presenting a silver platter with a cover. There was steam rising from the top, like he really had just prepared it just for her. 

“Your coffee is on the side. Plenty of cream and a little bit of sugar.”

A strange tide of gratitude nearly overcame Okoye. She bowed her head to hide her face. “Ndiyabulela Enkosi.”

“ _Wamkelekile._ And be sure to eat regularly, or I will personally deliver your meals to your suite, and you do not want that,” Chef Florent warned with a smile. 

Okoye smiled in spite of herself as she took the tray.

Back in her suite she wolfed down her food saving her coffee for last. She brought the cup to her face and inhaled deeply. It was Ethiopian, probably Harrars. She gulped it down and stared at her cup for a long moment, a ridiculous ache growing in her chest.

“Ugh,” she complained. 

Okoye stood and up and began to pace, her restlessness a bone deep irritation she had to scratch. 

Usually, at this time of day she’d would be either be guarding something or someone, supervising the security of the castle, strategizing a War Dog’s mission, or monitoring global news and information that may affect the security of Wakanda. 

If she could not train, fight, or strategize how to fight, what should she do with her time? 

One thing was for certain - the answer was not inside the castle.

~~*~~

The village market was bustling with energy. There were a dozen overlapping conversations taking place in the midst of haggling, drumming, and the sound of young children screaming and laughing. The delicious smell of various types of tibsi dishes cooking slowly permeating the air were designed to lure customers into making a sale.

Okoye had grown accustomed to assessing Wakanda’s largest market square for threats or escape routes to keep T'Challa safe. Walking through here as civilian was strange. Unnatural really. Okoye wondered if she looked as uncomfortable as she felt. It only made things worse that people gave her a wide berth, many of them bowing their heads in deference. She tried to ignore them, and feign casual shopping.

But Okoye had no interest in bowls, tapestries, or pastries. She scanned the market several times while “shopping” for nearly an hour before giving it up to rest at Ita, the outdoor cafe situated on the east side of the market square. 

There were several empty chairs and tables. Okoye purchased a cup of Ajiri tea and sat down where she could see everything and people watch from beneath the shade of the cafe’s bamboo canopy.

Just when her nerves began to settle, a loud parade of foreign awkwardness entered in from the north side of the square. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the overwhelming whiteness and weird clothing. While the Avengers often made an effort to split up, they always ended up congregating with each other. 

Okoye could hardly blame them. They were all very strange and stuck out like outsiders who’d crashed a private party. 

It was easy to miss before, with an impending alien invasion and the end of the world. But now that Okoye had time, it was hard to miss how hard Wakanda new guests were trying to blend it, and failing. 

At least they were entertaining to watch. 

“Ah!” an obnoxiously familiar voice boomed. “I thought the sun was just a little brighter over here, and now I see why!” 

Okoye rolled her eyes extra hard as M’Baku came strutting over. 

He looked especially showy today with his new black and tan grass skirt. On his waist was a lighter leather sheath and a leather holster just barely restrained his massive chest. He looked… okay. Definitely not as devastatingly handsome as he thought himself to be. Okoye could concede M’Baku was _alright_ as far as looks went, but that was inconsequential after factoring in his obnoxious arrogance. His cocky smile brought out Okoye's claws.

“Don’t come any closer,” she warned.

“Why not?” M’Baku held out his big arms, the muscles of his biceps flexing beneath his smooth sepia skin. Okoye pulled her gaze away when her stare threatened to linger too long. 

“Because I wish to be left alone.”

“That is most unfortunate, General. I was hoping to join you.”

Okoye opened her mouth to scoff at him, but M’Baku continued. “But, your wish is my command.”

“Since when are you so accommodating?” Okoye narrowed her eyes... “What happened to the great warrior M’Baku, who bows before no one?”

That cocky smirk returned. “I never said such. I only offered critique. If someone is _worthy_ , I have no problem with bowing.” 

Something in his voice changed, it suddenly rolled off his tongue smooth and sweet like honey. Okoye’s eyes went sharp as she stared back at him. M'Baku smirk slowly unfurled into a ridiculous smile. 

“Enjoy your day, General,” he said, bowing deeply. 

Gods!

He turned away with an extra swivel in his step, drawing attention to his prominent backside. Okoye pursed her lips. With nothing else to do, and M’Baku making such a spectacle of himself it was impossible not to watch him walk away.

~~*~~

After a long walk back to stall the inevitable, Okoye returned to the castle, heading straight to the kitchens to get her evening meal. The goal was to make a quick and stealthy exit, but she was halfway down the corridor when she heard Chef Florent say, “Yes, your Highness.”

Okoye froze, cursing under her breath. 

There was no way to avoid T'challa forever, so she walked on, turning the corner where Fezeka and Khali stood guard. Their eyes popped when they saw her, and it was hard for Okoye not to inquire about their training for the day, their current security schedule, or whether they had new protocols. 

It was no longer her place to ask, so she bit her tongue. A heavy sadness settled like a rock on her heart. These were her sisters, and for the first time in fifteen years she knew nothing about their day or how they were doing.

“General,” Fezeka said. 

It was only one word, but Okoye could have sworn she heard the apology in her tone. It was grating. Both she and Khali bowed their heads. Okoye only gave them a curt nod in return, hating the shame bubbling up within her gut. They were on duty; the security of the king had to be their focus, not her.

“General!” T’Challa called brightly as he caught sight of her. “I was _just_ about to send for you.”

“Oh? I wasn’t aware you could do such a thing since I am _on leave_ ,” 

T’Challa sighed. “I am still your King.”

Okoye gave a non-committal hum.

“Here,” T’Challa said, handing her a tray with a hot Pilau, a bowl of fresh berries with cream, and a cup of coffee. Okoye’s eyelids may have fluttered a little at the smell of the coffee. Her King was manipulative as hell.

“Did you make this?” she asked suspiciously.

T’Challa smiled and picked up his own tray. “I may have helped.”

One of the cooks snorted and T’Challa cut his eyes to her, but there was a small smirk playing on his lips. “Follow me, please.”

He led her through the kitchens to the far east elevator, where they rode up two floors to his private study. 

Okoye had only been in this room a few times. T’Challa did not normally take Dora in this room with him, or anyone else for that matter. It was one of the few private places he had. 

He took a seat in one of the large plush purple chairs seated around a small closest to the wall.

Okoye sat at the small table in the center of their room and T’Challa sat opposite of her. They ate in silence for several moments, the tension growing with each passing second. It was a strange feeling to be self-conscious around T’Challa. Okoye had known him for most of his adult life. She’d seen him at his most vulnerable. But now she was the vulnerable one. She was the one “on leave” for being erratic and emotional. She was the one who was being monitored until it was deemed she was fit to be a General. 

The weight of it all hung heavy in the air, and Okoye pushed her food around her plate as she tried to pretend to be a perfectly rational and adjusted human being fit to lead the King’s most elite guard. 

“Okoye,” T’Challa said, his brows knitting in concern as he put his fork down. “Please relax. Above anything else, we are friends first, yes?” 

“Friends…” Okoye put down her fork. “Is that why you brought me here? So we can have a friendly chat?”

T’Challa shrugged. “Yes. We don’t talk enough. I mean, about things other than security and war. That is something I would like to change.”

Okoye raised one eyebrow. “Can we talk about how you need to let me come back?”

That pulled a chuckle out of T’Challa. He shook his head fondly. “Sure, we can talk about it, but I am not budging. By the way, I have arranged for you to see the best counselor in all of Wakanda. Majani is expecting you at the Blue House tomorrow afternoon. 

“Tomorrow?!” Okoye blurted out. Honestly, this man and his surprises.

“It can be rescheduled if you are not ready.”

“I am always ready,” Okoye retorted said with a dare in her tone. If T’Challa thought she’d break down and profess a weakness, he had another thing coming. “Besides, whatever you have planned, I would rather get it over with.”

T’Challa smiled. “Good. I think you are going to love her. Oh, and… um, you might be hearing from Tony Stark as well.”

Okoye narrowed her eyes. “Stark? Why on earth would Stark possibly want to talk to me?”

T’Challa cleared his throat, his eyes shifting. Okoye leaned in because she knew he was about to spew excellent bullshit. “Well…he is working on a few new projects, and there is one in particular I thought you might be interested in.”

Okoye raised one cynical eyebrow, her stare unflinching. 

T’Challa sighed in concession. “Stark has proposed that we negotiate to bring Starbucks here.”

Okoye scoffed and waved off the suggestion. “Of course he would. That’s what colonizers do. They are always thinking of ways to new ways to colonize.” 

“Ah,” T’Challa said, raising one objecting finger, “but if we negotiate to bring an American company here, it would be under Wakanda’s control.”

“Then why didn’t Stark just suggest a Wakandan negotiate the terms - or better yet, build our own?”

“He did,” T’Challa said with a victorious smile, like a cat that had cornered his prey. Okoye’s hackles rose like they did whenever they sparred. If T’Challa was trying to trick her into working with Stark, he’d have to do better than this. “That is where you come in. Now that you now have some free time, I thought you might be interested in---”

“I am not going to work for or _with_ an American to bring an American company here!” Okoye spat. “I am a Wakandan General!”

T’Challa put up his hands. “I just thought you might want to be involved. I know how much you love coffee, and as I recall you were very vocal about having that particular company set up shop here.”

“Only after you insisted on opening the borders,” Okoye argued. “If we had maintained our coffee trade with the Nigerians--”

“You and I both know that our trading with the Nigerians was contentious. With our borders open now, this business venture could be the perfect olive branch. And not just to the Nigerians but others who feel we have alienated ourselves from them - Ethiopia, Sudan,---

“Cameroon,” Okoye said, suddenly acutely aware of all of the possibilities.

“Exactly,” T’Challa said, his smiling growing. “We could feature coffees from all across the continent, the diaspora, and---

“We would be able to set the terms for compensation and trade without the hassle of the petty micropolitics we were dealing with before,” Okoye finished, turning it over in her head. “But how much profit would we keep? An American company like Starbucks would want blood. It’s in their nature to pillage.”

“Not necessarily,” T’Challa said. “Starbucks already has a fair trade agreement with Ethiopia, and they seem very open to trademark licensing agreements that will allow us to retain ownership of the products we produce. While we don’t offer coffee, we can offer other things. It all depends on how you negotiate.”

Once T’Challa had finished his little speech, he sat back like a master chess player. Unimpressed, Okoye pursed her lips. 

“I understand your hesitancy. I will tell Stark you are not interested,” T’Challa said.

“I did not say I was not interested. “If Stark wants to talk to me, tell him to find me.”

“Alright, I will,” T’Challa said, his smile a bit too smug for Okoye’s tastes. She stuffed her mouth with a huge mouthful of pilau, hoping it would hide any trace of the excitement she felt about being involved in bringing Starbucks to Wakanda.

~~*~~

Another restless night bled into another restless morning. By the time the following afternoon rolled around, Okoye was tired and cranky and decidedly very unhappy as she made the trek to her first appointment with the counselor T’Challa had arranged.

It was a five mile walk, and in the heat of the sun, but she was determined to do it. It’s not like there was anything else occupying her time. Okoye could feel her aggravation melting into something else she did not want to examine. The Blue House sat on the edge of the parameter of the capital city, next to the Esisiqhamo forest. Its reputation preceded it. A strange place known for its healing arts and connection to the spirit world, the Blue House had a legacy of producing the Guardians who nurtured the heart-shaped herb and the Mothers who helped the living pass into the ancestral plane. 

Spirituality ran deep in Wakanda. The spiritual realm lay at the foundation of everything large and small within Wakanda. It held the power to give life and conquer death. It was everywhere and nowhere. Ever present, but intangible. Okoye had never been wholly comfortable with intangible. She respected it, of course, but it was easier to trust what she could see, feel and hear. Only a few Wakandans were gifted with the third eye and ability to heal. And though she would never admit it out loud, Okoye suspected some who proclaimed to have the gift to be liars or at least exaggerating, but she had no proof, and it was offensive to question it. 

As she approached the Blue House, memories of her youth came rushing back unexpected like a riptide. 

She stopped in her tracks, staring at the deceptively small looking blue house with red roofing. The windows were black, for privacy and shade. Even though there were only four windows, Okoye remembered the Blue House and its many, many rooms. There were rooms for fortifying mental wellness, rooms for physical therapy, and in the back, there was a black marble spa built around a large hot spring heated by raw vibranium. 

Okoye closed her eyes and pushed the memories and feelings sticking to them away. At this distance, someone inside had probably already spotted her. She lifted her chin and continued on, every step closer raising anxiety.

When she reached the door, there was a click, and it slowly opened. She glanced up at the motion camera over the threshold and then swallowed her trepidation and stepped inside.

The interior was the same. Green with large plants, there was a serene digital portrait of the ocean’s waves crashing against the shore almost as large as the wall it hung on. 

Okoye took a seat in one of the big overstuffed chairs and waited. Thankfully no one else was there. She wasn’t sure what she would have done if she had to wait with someone else who recognized her. 

A quiet shuffling from just beyond the partition of bamboo leaves made her look up. Suddenly a woman appeared. At least four inches shorter than Okoye, this woman was two shades darker with graying dreadlocks swept up into a bun on top of her head. She was wearing a soft looking white dashiki with black trim. There was a ring of hazel around the irises of her almond shaped eyes. The effect was stunning, and Okoye just stared at her for a long moment. As hard Okoye tried, she could not begin to guess this woman’s age. She could have been as young as 25 or as old at 45. 

“General, it is an honor to finally meet you. My name is Majani.” She held out her hand and smiled. It lit up her entire face, especially her eyes. 

Okoye stood up and shook Majani’s hand firmly. “Good afternoon.”

There really was nothing else to be said. 

“Is this day and time alright with you?” Majani asked. “I know T’Challa arranged this meeting without your prior knowledge, which I strongly discouraged by the way. So if you prefer another day---”

“No I want to get this over with,” Okoye said with more bite than she’d intended.

The light and warmth in Majani’s eyes remained as she smiled and that was…. unexpected.

“Of course. Follow me.”

Okoye followed her back through a long corridor with a soft blue glow. Vibranium lights usually left no room for shadow, but the stones on the wall must have been filtered to make the light faint. It was almost calming. 

But it was all smoke and mirrors, Okoye reminded herself. Manipulations. Waterfalls and low lights were just the beginning. She half expected this Majani woman to pull out a crystal ball or try to exorcize all of the bad energy from her with her ‘magic’ touch.

Majani opened a large wooden door and Okoye nearly gasped. Majani’s office was nothing like Okoye expected. There was so much artwork. Okoye immediately recognized Cheri Samba and Peju Alatise. 

“Is that a….” She reached out, almost touching the large gray portrait of a woman staring ahead.

“Peju Alatise...yes.” 

Okoye stared up at the swirls of black tangling with the whites, around dark piercing eyes set above bright red lips. She was so lost in the painting, it took her several moments for Majani’s voice to reach her.

Okoye turned around, half-startled, half-annoyed at herself. 

“I asked if you like art?”

“Yes,” Okoye nodded. “I used to pa-- ...yes.” 

Majani raised one eyebrow and extended her hand to a very comfortable looking brown and black Ankara print chaise lounge. “Please make yourself comfortable.”

Okoye nearly rolled her eyes. “Really? Am I supposed to lie down and tell you my life story?”

Majani chuckled. “Um, no. I only have you booked for about a hour. I imagine your life story would take a bit more than that.”

Okoye gaped back at Majani. Was that a joke? Was this woman making fun of her?

“As far as I’m concerned, you may lie down, sit, or remain standing if you like. This space is yours for the next forty-five minutes,” Majani said, taking a seat in a leather armchair. 

Okoye slowly took her seat, watching warily as Majani withdrew a digital notebook and a pointer.

“So, I was thinking that since we have this time together every week--”

“Every week?” Okoye blurted out.

Majani sighed and shook her head. “Oh, T’Challa. He didn’t tell you that either.”

“Tell me what?” Okoye asked. 

“He was supposed to prep you more. Perhaps he intended to and ---”

“Froze. Yes, he does that.” Okoye shook her head, scowling. “So tell me what he could not.”

“Well, frankly speaking, T’Challa is concerned about you. He says you’ve been uncharacteristically withdrawn, crankier than usual…”

“Usual, eh?”

“And, that you look like you haven’t been sleeping. What do you think of his assessment?”

Okoye folded her arms over her chest. “I think that I had a few bad days. War is unpleasant, and it takes a while to get over it. Apparently, that is not allowed.”

Majani stroked her chin as she contemplated Okoye. “Hmm. You sound very angry with T’Challa for placing you on leave.”

“You could say that,” Okoye said.

“And that’s fine. Your emotions are yours and are valid. Nevertheless, this leave of absence is meant to give you time to slow down, relax, unwind, and perhaps sort some things out.”

“I have nothing to sort out,” Okoye insisted, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yes, well, I’m here to listen, and if you like, help you. Now, we can meet once a week or even twice a week -”

“How about once a month?”

“Well,” Majani said slowly. “ The less time we spend together, the longer it may take to address your---”

“I don’t have any problems! I’m a little battle fatigued, everyone who fought is. And yes, I may have taken it out on my Dora, but it was a minor slip up. It won’t happen again.”

“What do you mean by ‘taking it out’ on your Dora?”

The shame and guilt of her last session reared its ugly head. Okoye clicked her teeth, averting her eyes from Majani’s searching stare.

“If you are truly alright, as you say, it will become apparent soon enough, and I will make a recommendation for us to end our sessions. Does that sound fair?”

Okoye sighed. “So what do you need to know for me to reassure you that I am alright?”

“Time. We have forty-five minutes each week.”

“I don’t have anything to talk about for forty-five minutes.”

Majani hummed. “Perhaps it will come to you later.”

“I doubt it.”

Chuckling, Majani nodded. “That’s alright.”

Okoye shifted, uncomfortable with the idea of sitting with this woman every week while she ranted about nothing. 

“But today I will grant you a little break, since you were not fully informed or prepared to be here. But next week, we start, yes?”

Majani stood up and held out her hand. There was still a smile in her eyes and on the edges of her lips. Okoye begrudgingly admired Majani’s stubborn insistence to be friendly. Stronger men had crumbled under Okoye’s glare.

“Yes, next week,” Okoye said, giving Majani’s hand a sturdy and curt shake.

~~*~~

The walk from the Blue House to the castle was long enough to cool Okoye’s simmering anger. She was not even sure who she was angry with - T’Challa, Majani, or herself. The futility of staying angry soon became clear though, and her mind wandered to other things. Like what the hell would she talk about for forty-five minutes every week? Was Majani going to report everything she said to T’Challa? Just who was Majani anyway? Surely there must be some sort of record on her.

Okoye resolved to look into it as soon as she could.

There were two paths she could take to get back home - through the market or around it. 

As she thought about the nosey servants, T’Challa’s inevitable “check-in,” and Chef Florent fussing over her, suddenly going home did not seem so appealing. 

She turned right, walking slowly towards the market all the while wondering just how long this ‘leave’ was going to last.

It was late afternoon and the market was much less crowded now. Most people were finishing up at work or preparing for dinner. Many of the merchants had made their money, and had packed up or were more subdued than they usually were in the morning.

A colorful red, black, green and yellow stand with no words caught Okoye’s eye. The sign was propped up outside of a literal hole in the wall shop just adjacent to the coffee shop. Okoye had never seen anyone come in or out of the shop before, in fact, she’d thought it was unused. But the door was wide open now. Out of pure curiosity and boredom, Okoye decided to investigate.

Listening for signs of life, she paused at the threshold of the door, trying to peer inside. It was awfully dark in there. 

Okoye frowned and instinctively reached for her weapon. But her spear was still in its stand in her suite. She cursed under her breath and fingered the backup dagger on her waist as she crossed the doorway.

The smell of old paper and disuse filled her nostrils. There were hardly any windows and most of them were shaded. Okoye’s eyes quickly adjusted to the dimness and she almost gasped at the long aisles before her. There were at least six aisles, separated by oak wood bookshelves. All of the shelves were filled. 

Once again, Okoye looked around. Not a soul in sight. It was eerie, but strangely, there was a relaxing energy to this place that reminded Okoye of the Blue House.

Perhaps it was the beautiful Crane Flower near the only window behind the counter. Or it may have been the large hand-woven multi-colored Bamileke rug that stretched across the entire cafe area at the front of the shop. 

Okoye looked up and her eyelids fluttered. Overhead fans pushed a steady cool breeze and the smell of old books through the air. It had the effect of taking a sedative, and Okoye was acutely aware of the tension she’d been holding all morning quickly leaving her body. The fans were not powered by vibranium. Using electricity was a choice, perhaps even a statement. Suddenly, she was reminded of being ten years old, riding her father’s shoulders as he stepped into a coffee shop in Kenya. It was a simpler time, one she did not think about often. The time before he became a war dog, before….

“Hello,” a frail voice said from behind, nearly making Okoye jump.

She whirled around, at the ready, only to find a very small and wrinkled old woman near the counter.

Behind her, a narrow door was cracked open.

“Hello,” Okoye said curtly, the tension back in full force as she took in this strange woman who had somehow managed to move around without a sound.

“I am Cebisa. Welcome.”

“I am Okoye.”

“I know. How could I not?”

Okoye glanced away from Cebisa’s admiring stare. “Is this your bookshop?”

“Yes. I have owned this shop for many years. Before you were a Dora.” 

Okoye frowned. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“Oh? I’ve been around.”

“And what is the name of your shop?” Okoye demanded. “You have a sign outside with no name.”

“I haven’t figured it out yet.” Cebisa’s laugh was deep and rich and it filled up the entire shop. “I suppose one day I will name it.”

“Perhaps once you decide on a name, business will pick up,” Okoye gave the shop a pointed look. 

“Mmm yes, it is true, only a few visit,” Cebisa said. “But that’s all I need. A few. Some of my regulars are getting old though, and I suspect they will be crossing over soon. I need a few new patrons.

“You know,” she said, taking a step closer, her eyes laser sharp and assessing. “The ancestors whispered to me this morning. They told me to put out my sign and open my door. And look who walked in - the General of Wakanda. It is a great honor.”

Okoye turned away from her then, hating the superstitious stuff the woman was spewing and that undeserved look of unwavering faith and admiration.

“What kind of books do you sell?” she asked abruptly, eyeing the shelves.

“All kinds. If I don’t have it. I can get it for you.”

Okoye hummed skeptically as she entered the center aisle. She expected the old woman to follow her, but every time she glanced over, she found herself going deeper and deeper into the aisle alone.

The books were categorized by subject matter. There were books on different countries, languages, cooking, technology, world politics and foreign affairs, and military strategy. Okoye paused and pulled out a book entitled “Tactical Defense for Those Without Tact”, and stifled a smile. What a silly title. She flipped through it. Page after page, it contained silly little anecdotes and ridiculous advice such as “If you find yourself outnumbered, scream and try to find a way around them.”

Okoye almost laughed and then caught herself. She put the book back and pulled out the next one. “General Tactics for Generals” was more of the same. “Winning a battle is 20% strategy. No one has figured out the other 80%, but rest assured, it is out of your hands.”

An unexpected snort slipped out and Okoye had to cover her mouth. 

She combed through a few more of the military books but they were all like that. It was odd. None of them seemed to take tactical defense or war seriously. Okoye could not tell if this was Cebisa’s idea of a joke, or if the woman was just so woefully ignorant of military defense, she’d ordered the wrong books. 

She rounded the bookshelf to the next aisle. Okoye’s eyes widened as she pulled out the first paperback. “Zixhaswe” it said in bright red scandalous letters. The picture on the cover showed a half naked sepia toned woman, with considerable cleavage. The woman was grasping her muscled lover huge biceps and her head was thrown back in pleasure. It was spellbinding and embarrassing. 

Okoye quickly scanned the next book and the next. The entire aisle was filled with romance novels. Some of them featuring two women, or two men, a few had threesomes.

“Pornography.”

“It’s romance, General! Nothing wrong with a bit of romance” called Cebisa. 

Okoye ducked her head, ashamed. She’d been in this section for far too long and obviously Cebisa had a camera back here.

Perhaps that’s why she decided to go ahead and purchase the book in her hand. Putting it back at this point would not help her, and she was curious. But before she returned to the counter, she picked up one of the military tactic joke books to hide the romance novel under. 

She had a reputation to maintain, after all.

“Oh, this is a fine choice. I think you’ll like this one,” Cebisa said.

Okoye narrowed her eyes, trying to discern if this woman was mocking her.

“Do you have a satchel?”

Cebisa smiled. “Of course. I hope you come back again, General.”

Okoye gave her a curt not as she took the satchel and then got the hell out of there.

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been completely outlined and will be six chapters long. I'm finishing up the third chapter now, however, I am also participating in a few bangs, so updates may come slow. I will work on it as I find the time, but I vow to finish it sometime this year! 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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